


I Like Your Baggage

by AdamantSteve



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Meet the Family, Phil's parents, Some angst, not AoS compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint wants to meet Phil's family... even if they hate him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Like Your Baggage

**Author's Note:**

> Written before getting entirely jossed, this fic charts Clint meeting Phil's family at the wedding of one of Phil's sisters.  
> So, this fic is not Agents of SHIELD compliant!  
> Beta read at some point by Dunicha, but that was a good fifty edits ago (give or take) so if it's riddled with mistakes, I apologise!

 

 

"Thanksgiving?" 

Phil twisted his mouth to the side. "There's not really enough space in the cabin."

"Christmas?" Clint flipped the calendar - a 2014 _Avengers_ one (complete with stickers) - to December and looked over at Phil. He was doing a crossword, his glasses fairly far down his nose and the hand that wasn't holding a pen resting around a mug of coffee.

"They usually go to the cabin for that, too," Phil murmured, eyes still fixed on the crossword. He filled in a small word and Clint frowned. "They could come here, maybe?" 

Phil looked up briefly, picking up his coffee and sipping it before shaking his head. "Mom hates to travel."

 

Clint suppressed a sigh. Five years they'd been doing this thing, and he was still to meet Phil's family; a mysterious group of people that Clint had barely even seen photographs of. Phil didn't talk about them much beyond short stories that offered glimpses into his small town childhood. The time he snuck his Captain America action figure into Sunday School and his dad had made him donate it to the church, the time his mom had cut his hair weird, the time his brother and sisters had hidden in the arcade til after closing and had to sit there in the dark til they called home and confessed. 

 

Clint had very briefly met one sister, who had a similar nose to Phil's and the same blue eyes. "I guess you must be Clint," she'd said, looking him up and down, and Clint hadn't felt so small since being at the orphanage, potential parents sizing the kids up before picking one to take home; clearly she wouldn't have picked him. And then Phil had walked in and Clint could _see_ the tension radiating off of him. Clint had made his excuses and gone back to base before thoroughly cleaning his quarters like that would maybe make the sister - he'd not even gotten as far as finding out which one she was, Anne or Sara - like him more. 

 

Phil had apologised afterwards, and eventually coaxed Clint to move even more things into his apartment til he relinquished his quarters for good. It was forgotten about. Sara had been in town for business, she worked for something complicated that required masters degrees that Clint didn't fully understand. She'd dropped by unannounced and Phil wasn't quite prepared for the two halves of his world to collide. He filled Clint in a little more, though Clint had to press, and he didn't like pressing because he didn't like when Phil pressed him about his own past. But whereas Clint's family was pretty much moot since they were all dead or in prison, Phil's family was very much alive, and still a part of his life. He went to family holidays, an uncle's funeral, his dad's 75th birthday. And Clint wasn't invited. 

 

He was never pointedly _not_ invited, but he was never explicitly asked to come, either. There wasn't a plus one on the invite to cousin Mary's wedding, and there just wasn't space at the fabled cabin in the forest that Phil did tell him stories about. The fifty frogs they caught one summer, the hundred fireflies. How scared he was of his dad's hunting rifle and how good the food was that his mom made with whatever he caught. 

 

But springtime called for annual leave arrangement and Clint asked, like he had the year before in the same roundabout way where a no wasn't an all out rejection. And Phil pretended to do his crossword like Clint wasn't putting quite a lot out there by pushing the subject.

 

"Am I ever going to meet them?" he asked quietly, flicking the pages of the calendar, air softly brushing over his face as they fell.

"My family?"

Clint turned around and just looked at him. 

"Of course you will, Clint," Phil said, like it was no big deal.

"But not at Christmas. Or Thanksgiving."

 

Clint wanted Phil to come over and pull him close, tell him that they'd fly up there soon and his whole family would love him: his dad Mac, his mom June, his sisters and his brother Peter. That they'd all fuss over him and tell him to take care of Phil, and feed him some of the things Phil talked about and he could go out hunting with Phil's dad and wow him with his aim, like some sort of Lifetime movie. They'd all say he was the son they'd never had and he'd _belong_. 

 

But Phil didn't. He just took off his glasses and rubbed his nose. "It's hard Clint, ok?" 

Clint stayed where he was, standing in front of the ridiculous calendar, turned to April with Tony Stark surrounded by puppies. "Are you ashamed of me?" 

 

"What? _No_ ," Phil replied, but to Clint's ears it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Clint. Like it wasn't the _most_ ridiculous thing. Like perhaps, on second thought, Phil was a _tiny_ bit ashamed of his fuck up ex-carnie gay lover who was ten years his junior. 

Clint sighed. "Right."

"Come here," Phil said softly, turning in his seat and holding a hand out. It made Clint feel like a four year old sulking but he went anyway, taking Phil's hand, extra warm from the coffee cup he'd just put down. 

"Look at me," 

Clint did, knowing his face was set firm but feeling his resolve to be annoyed about this start to soften with the way Phil's eyes looked so deep into him.

"I love you, Clint. And I could never be ashamed of you." Clint rolled his eyes but Phil stood up and tipped his face towards him. "Ever." 

 

Clint let himself be kissed til he kissed back, and then Phil charted his body with kisses, reeling off the things he loved and was proud of about Clint as he went. And when he was done, breakfast cold and forgotten, Clint couldn't remember what he was so upset about.

 

-

 

"Do you want me to get a degree?" Clint asked out of the blue, weeks later in Phil's office, the both of them eating lunch over a stack of reports. 

"Do _I_ want you to?" Phil replied, fork full of paella hovering in front of his mouth. Clint shrugged. "Why would _I_ want you to? I mean, you can if you want, of course you can. SHIELD has all sorts of education programs, or you could take a sabbatical, if you wanted. But I don't... you don't _need_ a degree. Unless _you_ want one?" Phil scooped a few more bits of rice onto his already loaded fork before eating. Clint shrugged again and chewed a mouthful of his sandwich. When he was done Phil was looking at him with a quizzical look on his face, the look he had when he was trying to figure Clint out. "What would you do?"

Clint pursed his lips before answering. "Maybe zoology or something. Or physiotherapy. I've been in PT half my time at SHIELD anyway," he shrugged. 

"I think you'd be good at that," Phil replied with a smile. 

 

-

 

Phil went to Thanksgiving back home in the fabled cabin, and Clint went to Stark Tower in what was a tradition after three years. He stayed in one of the guest suites and it was almost like a vacation, Natasha coming by to bug him while he toiled away on coursework. It was different doing something academic that he was actually interested in, and it was nice to feel like he was actually learning something of use. SHIELD's education program was fairly relaxed so he didn't have deadlines to fuck up and miss, and he could pretty much choose what he wanted to do modules on, since they all added up to the end result of a BA. And even if Phil insisted, Clint knew his history, he'd dated _fancy_ people. Much fancier than Clint would be even with a degree, so it couldn't _hurt_.

 

"You can't _make_ people like you," Natasha told him one afternoon, snow already starting to fall in the pale grey sky outside and a book of animal biology open on his lap. Clint looked at her in surprise and laughed. "What?" 

She rolled her eyes. "Phil's family. You're still going to be a fag even with a college education."

"Of all people, _you're_ telling me that?" 

She tipped her head. "If Phil's parents are homophobic assholes they're never going to warm to his _boyfriend_." 

Clint turned his head away from her to watch the snow and sighed. "Who says I'm doing it for them?"

 

-

 

The thing was, Clint knew Phil _had_ taken previous boyfriends home. The Cellist, for one. Mike was his real name but Clint took to calling him by his arch nemesis bad-guy name. _The Cellist_ had degrees. He'd been to a _conservatory_. He'd been to Phil's sister's wedding (Anne and Leon, 2010) and the christening of her first child.

 

Clint had met him twice, first at a soiree of bullshit to do with Tony (the vindictive thrill he'd gotten when he overheard Tony telling Pepper not to book that quartet again had been delicious) and the second time in a grocery store a few blocks over from Phil's apartment. To be fair, the man wasn't, like, a murderer or something, but Clint hated him all the same. He was one of those people who just _seemed_ like a dick. If Clint's perception of him was tinted by jealousy, he'd be hard pressed to admit it. The Cellist was just a tool. 

 

But a tool that Phil's parents had apparently not hated. A tool that Phil wasn't ashamed to have them meet. A tool that was mentioned in more than one Christmas card sent to Phil the year after he'd gotten together with Clint.

 

-

 

Christmas rolled around but Phil stayed home. They visited the tower and played stupid games, and Clint forgot about Phil's other, _real_ family. The Avengers were all orphans of one kind or another just like Clint and they felt as much like a family to him as he imagined a real one ever could.

 

Phil kissed him under the mistletoe and grinned. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart," he'd said, his cheeks a little rosy from the copious amounts of sherry they'd been drinking. They started slow dancing to the music playing in the background and didn't stop when Tony put on Journey. And that was more than enough for Clint. They broke apart when the chorus came on for Clint to sing loudly along with Tony and Bruce, Phil laughing happily at it all. A warmth settled into Clint's bones, having Phil there, sitting next to him on the couch and being on his team for Trivial Pursuit, a warmth that only slightly burned when Phil had to take a family phonecall outside and returned with lines back around his eyes.

 

-

 

"I have to go back home," Phil said a few days into January, the year feeling like a huge blank page yet to be written on. Clint tried not to wince, because really, that was a thing people did. People visited their families. It was fine. 

"Yeah?" Clint tried to sound like he wasn't hoping to be asked along but knew it was a losing game. 

"My dad's got something wrong with his knees. Plus... Well, I didn't go back for Christmas so I should really go."

"Right, yeah. Sure." 

Phil crowded him and waited for Clint to pull him into a hug. "I'll only be gone a few days," Phil said into his shoulder. Clint wanted him to apologise but he didn't.

 

-

 

When he was back, but gone again on a mission, away for a few more days, Clint picked up Phil's dry cleaning to find an envelope was taped to the plastic - something he’d left in the pocket. He'd opened it to find an invitation to Phil's brother's wedding: the thick cream envelope addressed to Phil & Clint.

 

"I thought they just didn't know about me," Clint said once Phil came back, as soon as he walked in the door. He pushed the envelope into his chest and picked up the keys Phil had just put down, grabbing his jacket on the way out the door, slamming it before Phil could respond.

 

Clint walked around for a while, regretting not bringing any gloves or a scarf with him and then wandering around a drug store just for the warmth. It reminded him of times long since past, before SHIELD, before Phil. But the memories were numb and flat. And fuck Phil anyway. He didn't want Clint to show him up to his precious family. He didn't want Clint for anything more than sex and companionship, everything else about him was trash he just put up with. Well, Clint thought, he could just move back to HQ if he had to, he had friends he could go stay with. He could - 

 

"Clint?" said a voice behind him and Clint couldn't help but laugh as he turned around to see the goddamned Cellist, bundled up like a sensible person with a hat and earmuffs, red cheeks and a friendly smile. 

"Hi," Clint said with a huffed laugh and a shake of his head. 

"What?" Mike asked at his laughter. 

"Nothing, I'm sorry. Just... of all the people to see tonight."

Mike frowned. "Is everything alright?" 

"Yeah. You know, Phil's brother's getting married."

"Peter? Oh that's great," Mike answered, like a polite, normal person.

Clint laughed a little maniacally, bunching his hands in his jacket pockets. "I guess!" he said loudly; an old woman next to him tutted. "They invited me but Phil didn't tell me about it!"

Mike raised his eyebrows and reached out to Clint slightly. "That’s... uh, that sucks. Um. Do you uh... maybe want to come get coffee with me? You look pretty cold." 

Clint tipped his hands up and shrugged theatrically. "Why not?!" 

 

They holed up in a Starbucks, the windows fogged with condensation turning the people walking by outside into blurs. Clint hadn't even brought his wallet with him so accepted Mike's coffee with awkward gratitude. He was cold and embarrassed, trying to think of an excuse to leave, but was distracted by something as Mike took the lid off of his cup. "Are you married!?" 

"Depending what state you're in," Mike smiled and blew on his coffee.

 

They'd come this far, and the silence hung heavy so Clint thought to hell with it and asked him what he had always wanted to. "What are Phil's family like?" 

He realised as soon as he'd said it how big a question that probably seemed for someone he barely knew. "I just... I've never met them, and I know you did. So." 

Mike picked at the seam of his cup and thought about it. "They're very traditional, dinner on the table at seven, lights out at ten-thirty, all that. They're nice people. They were a little caught off guard when they met me, I think. I mean they knew Phil was gay, it was just a little weird for them to actually see him _being_ gay, even if he barely touched me the whole time we were there." 

He said it so easily that Clint was surprised. Mike laughed. "I was the first boyfriend he'd ever brought home and I think their reaction might have..." he searched for the right word, "affected him a little."

"Were they awful?"

" _No_ ," Mike replied, "no not awful at all, just... it's a _really_ small town and I think it was a little mortifying for him."

"Did they not like you?" 

Mike hesitated to answer, clearly unsure of how the answer might affect Clint. He _was_ acting a little unhinged.

"They were perfectly nice." At Clint's unsatisfied face he elaborated, "they're just not really used to 'modern lifestyles'. And I think they maybe thought being a professional musician wasn't a real job. They didn't say that, but that was the impression I got. The rest of them are all accountants, business owners, management..."

 

Clint hadn't ever thought of The Cellist in those terms before. He'd always assumed everyone fawned over the guy who wore a tuxedo every night and could play an instrument like he could shoot his bow. Clint sipped his coffee.

 

"What about his dad? What's he like?" 

Mike tipped his head and thought about it, hands either side of his cup. "Not too scary," he admitted eventually. "It’s his mom that’s the scary one." 

"Is she mean?" 

"Not so much mean as... stern? You know?"

Clint poked at a milky puddle of coffee on the table between them with his stirrer and bit at his lip. "Were they... Did they like you?" Clint asked, hoping slightly to hear that no, they hated Mike and chased him out of town.

"They were really polite. It was an effort, I think, but they went out of their way to accommodate me. Phil hated that."

Clint frowned in confusion.

"Just the way it was a whole _thing_. I don't think they were really that comfortable about the arrangement, but they wanted to be, for Phil's sake. But Phil's all about the easy life, as I'm sure you know."

Was he? Clint wasn't so sure. Working for SHIELD wasn't an easy life. But it was true that he hated any kind of fuss over himself. If someone offhandedly said something about Phil, or them as a couple, Clint was only too quick to dole out retribution and as Phil put it, 'make a scene', and Phil would always rather he didn't. But then that was how they worked. Clint was brash and over the top, Phil was calm and understated. Yin and yang. Or perhaps chalk and cheese.

 

"Are they all... do they have a lot of books?" Clint asked, because he'd found that the more books a person had in their house, the more dumb he tended to feel around them. Mike seemed amused at that and Clint's feeling on him shifted back to 'probably a douche' as he replied, "a normal amount, I suppose," like there'd been any books in the house Clint had grown up in.

 

"I'm sure they'd like you if they met you," Mike offered, and Clint couldn't decide if he was being genuine or not, but he liked him for saying it. Perhaps he wasn't completely awful. 

 

-

 

Clint got home to something delicious smelling in the oven and Phil running to pull him into his arms. "Clint, I'm sorry. Will you hear me out? Jesus, Clint you're freezing," he pressed warm palms to Clint's cheeks and then rubbed his hands up and down Clint's arms to warm them. Clint let him, but waited to hear what he had to say before speaking himself. 

 

He followed Phil, sat at the kitchen table and picked at the bread set there for dinner. Phil didn't even tell him not to, so he was clearly feeling guilty. 

 

"I was going to tell you," Phil began. Clint looked at him sardonically. "I _was_ ," he insisted, "but I wasn't even sure _I'd_ be able to go, so I was waiting til I knew when the Salzberg mission was going live." Clint just kept looking at him, rolling a piece of bread into a doughy ball before popping it into his mouth. "But I put in a call to Fury and he said we can hold off til after the wedding. If you'll come?" 

Clint swallowed. "I'm not going to come if you don't want me to."

"I _do_ want you to. Honestly, Clint. I've wanted to take you home forever. I don't even really know why I haven't, I just... I don't want you to be scared off."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, Phil. You don't want me to be scared off or you don't want me to embarrass you?"

"Embarrass me?" Phil looked _confused_ , and Clint bit back a laugh.

"You took the Cellist home," he said, jaw hard.

"Yeah, and he broke up with me after we got back," Phil shot back immediately.

Clint paused. He knew that in general terms but he didn't _know_ that. "So?"

"So? So I don't want you to see me through my family's eyes and decide you're done with me. And I don't-" he stopped himself. 

"Don't what?" 

"I don't want you to see _you_ through their eyes either." Phil finished quietly. Before Clint could reply, the timer on the oven beeped so Phil got up to switch it off. He took out a covered dish of something, casserole maybe, and let it sit while he fussed over plates, back turned to Clint. He got up to get cutlery, laying the small table with quiet precision, silence as thick as the smell of dinner. 

 

Dished up, the food was good, a cassoulet of meat and beans, perfectly warming after the cold of a February day that had firmly settled into Clint's body. "So what do you think they'll see?" Clint asked eventually, scooping beans onto a hunk of bread with his fork. "When they look at me." He didn't look at Phil, couldn't look at his face as he pondered how to answer that question. 

 

Phil put his fork down and wiped his mouth before taking a deep breath. "Let me tell you what I see, alright? I see an amazing man, stronger than even he knows. Sweet. Kind. A genius with a bow and arrow. Or a gun, or any kind of projectile for that matter. Loyal, sexy as hell, _funny_. One of the smartest people I've ever had the privilege of knowing. Someone I love and who loves me back for some reason I can't even begin to comprehend. A good person. That's what I see. A really _great_ person."

 

Clint swallowed his mouthful of food and looked up, and Phil looked _scared_. Clint laughed bitterly. "And them?" He didn't want to know the answer now. 

 

"I don't know, Clint. But I know what you think of yourself, and if they said anything that backed up any of the crap that you carry around or made you feel like you weren't good enough for me-"

"It's not your job to protect me from other people's opinions, Phil."

"It is when they're my family," Phil interrupted. 

Clint took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So, what do you think they'll see?" 

 

Phil shook his head and sighed in frustration. "I don't know, Clint!"

"Yes you do, Phil! What is it? They'd think I was a fag? A carnie? A poor little orphan boy? Or that you're pitching too low and could do better? Get yourself a nice dentist or a professor or some shit?"

Phil was staring at him with a mix of anger and dismay on his face. "Are you hearing yourself?"

Clint rolled his eyes. "You can tell me all the sweet nothings you want, Phil, but they don't mean shit if you can't back them up."

"Goddammit Clint do you want to come to this wedding or not?"

"Yes, Phil! Of course I fucking do."

"So. Come to it then!" 

"I will!"

"Good!"

"Fucking... ok then."

 

They ate in stormy silence for a while til Phil placed his hand on the table and Clint took it without looking up. After another sip of wine Clint muttered, "I'm gonna need a new suit,"  and looked up to see Phil trying not to look too excited about that.

 

-

 

The drive out was a day and a half, much the same as many other long drives they'd taken together for work, though in comfier clothes. The Phil in faded jeans and a sweatshirt with holes in the cuffs was a different beast to the one that barked orders and called Fury 'boss' but the lines of tension were still present around his eyes and Clint _knew_ it was because he was there. 

 

He knew _some_ things about Phil's siblings, but was glad of the excuse to really grill him about them. They'd all be there, along with everyone else in their huge family and most of the residents of their tiny town, and Clint wasn't scared so much - mostly convinced that they'd hate him on sight and resigned to the fact - but still apprehensive. Phil's tension ratcheted up the further west they went and only began to smooth out once they stopped over at a Motel 6 and Clint tried to literally massage it out of his shoulders. 

 

"When we get there, if I make you mad," he said, kissing down Phil's bare chest, "or I embarrass you," Phil started to say something and Clint shushed him and unzipped his ancient jeans, "just think of me like this," Clint licked over the head of Phil's cock where it lay under cotton boxers. "Because I can guarantee you," he pulled at the elastic til Phil's cock sprang free, hard since Clint first got to him with the tiny bottle of motel moisturiser, "none of them can do this." He did his best move, the thing that always made Phil wriggle beneath him and gasp hot pleasure, taking him in all the way in one swift movement til he was nosing Phil's pubic hair. He looked up at him and slowly pulled off with hollowed cheeks, feeling a small bloom of pride to see Phil already melting into the pillow. "Or this," he promised, licking his balls delicately.

 

"I wouldn't want them to," Phil said eventually, and Clint laughed into his thigh. Phil smiled but didn't laugh, his face falling serious, or as serious as anyone's face could be mid-blowjob. "Only you, Clint." He tugged at Clint's hair til he looked back up. "Always, doesn't matter what anyone else thinks." 

Clint nodded his head and smiled cautiously. "I know."

 

-

 

Clint had seen enough pictures of Phil's family to recognise his parents, sitting on the porch of a pretty huge house as they pulled up. Mac, bald with a grey beard and the same sort of plaid shirt Steve tended to wear. And June, slender and tall, white hair cut into a smart bob with eyes so blue Clint could tell from the driveway she probably had the same intense gaze as Phil when she wanted it. Clint looked down when he felt Phil squeeze his knee but his hand was already gone and he was undoing his seatbelt. He took a deep breath and got out of the car.

 

"Uncle Phil!" Yelled a small voice, followed by a tiny person running off the porch and clinging to Phil's legs. Phil grinned and petted the curly head of what Clint guessed was a four year old kid. 

"James! I'm sorry Phil," a woman with a brown ponytail said, running down from the porch and peeling the child off of him. 

"The prodigal son returns!" boomed Mac, struggling down the steps with a pair of canes, June behind him, hand half outstretched to help him but clearly not wanting to coddle him. Phil met him at the bottom of the steps and took a cane that was offered so he could shake his hand. Clint had to shake his head to clear it when the hand was extended towards him. "And you're his young man, I presume?" 

 

Clint laughed nervously and shook the hand - clearly Mac was the man Phil had learned his death-grip handshake from. "Sure, I guess. Clint."

"It's good to meet you, Clint. I'd say Phil has told us so much about you but I think he's scared we'll chase you off. I'm Mac, and this is Phil's mom June and one of our daughters, Anne," he spoke with pride in his voice and Clint felt himself hoping to make this man like him, be proud of him too one day. He shook the hands offered him and sure enough, June's eyes were like ice lasers even with the warm smile she gave him. 

 

"Nice to meet you," echoed the sister. "And it's good to see you, too, _Pill_ ," she said with a grin of her own, leaning in for a hug with James settled on one hip, squirming til he was let go again. Phil rolled his eyes at the childhood jibe but grinned anyway. Clint felt like he was staring and looked away nervously. He could feel June's eyes on him. 

"Everybody else is out back," June said, "come on and I'll get you some lemonade."

 

-

 

The rest of the family were pleasant enough, though Sara, she of the business meeting and the three second sizing up, still maintained a coldness towards Clint that he wasn't sure what to do with. Usually when people took a dislike to him, Clint ignored them or did something to screw with them if he couldn't win them over with his snark and sarcasm. But she seemed immune to his self deprecating charm (that's what Phil tended to call it anyway) and he could hardly spit in her drink or walk away. He settled for stilted small talk and biting back commentary on her opinion of the sartorial choices of her teenage daughter Amanda. He'd not even met the girl but he was already taking a liking to the teenage 'tearaway'. 

 

Sara's husband was a dentist, who was pleasant if a little wary, perhaps under some sort of instruction from Sara not to be too nice to Clint. Anne's husband turned up after dinner and reminded Clint of a high school gym teacher: a little paunchy and used to not being listened to but content nonetheless, and clearly devoted to Anne and their somewhat destructive child. 

 

June's manner remained icy, though she didn't overtly say or do anything to Clint, she just seemed to freeze when she interacted with him, like she forgot he was there til she accidentally laid eyes on him. Peter, the brother, spent most of his time fretting over last minute wedding details on his phone, taking harried phone calls from his bride to be and rolling his eyes.

 

Sara's kids turned up after dinner, Amanda in a holey Radiohead t-shirt that their mom winced at, and Chris, on the awkward cusp of puberty but childlike enough to still happily play with James irony-free. "Are you Phil's boyfriend?" Amanda asked loudly, so the only sound in the room was suddenly just James vrooming toy cars across the carpet. 

" _Amanda_ ," Sara said curtly, and Clint felt a bubble of laughter try to fight it's way out of him. He liked her a lot.

"I sure am," Clint replied, holding out a hand to shake, which Amanda nonchalantly shook like she went around shaking people's hands all the time. 

"Did you bring a bow with you?" 

The whole room was watching them and Clint felt like he was back in the circus. He started to answer no, but Phil interrupted. "It's in the car." Clint's head shot round to see Phil's tiny little pleased-with-himself smile. 

"Can I see it?" Amanda said, eyes pretty intense too; not the piercing blue of her mother and grandmother, but a deep brown. 

Clint looked at Phil for guidance but before either of them answered, June cleared her throat. "No weapons in the house."

"Tomorrow," Clint promised quietly, and Amanda nodded sagely, like she'd evaluated Clint and approved. One down, he thought.

 

-

 

June showed them to their room despite Phil's insistence that they were fine on their own, showing Clint where the bathroom and extra blankets were. There were two single beds either side of the room, and she pointedly showed Clint which one was his. Phil all but hustled her out of the room and she gave one last look at Clint that Clint couldn’t help but read distaste and unease from before Phil closed the door.

 

It was Phil's old bedroom that he'd shared with Peter, though long since turned into a rather bland guest room instead of the Captain America shrine (on one side, the other was dedicated to the Cleveland Browns) that Phil had lovingly maintained. Clint took a deep breath. "She hates me." 

Phil stepped into his space and pulled him into a hug, kissing him on the nose. "No she doesn't.” 

Clint hummed into Phil’s neck, unconvinced. “I promise," he whispered. Clint sighed and offered a small smile before stepping away to look in one of the cardboard boxes on Phil's bed. They were full of posters, cards, action figures and even bedding emblazoned with the Star Spangled Man. Phil tried to be cool about it but Clint teased him by pretending to drop the ceramic Cap he'd unwrapped from a 1986 newspaper and he took it out of his hands to wrap back up. 

 

"This is nice," Clint said, pulling out a tshirt emblazoned with Cap's shield. It had holes in the seams and was threadbare in places around the edges, clearly a favourite. He pulled off the shirt he'd put on to sleep in and pulled the Cap shirt on, a little small but not so much that it would stretch it out of shape. "What do you think?" 

 

Phil turned around from placing the figure back in the box and for a moment Clint thought he'd gone too far, sullying the precious shirt which was maybe the prize of the collection, but then Phil licked his lips and just stared at him. 

"You gotta take that off," he said warningly, "cause the walls of this house are too thin for me to do what I want to do to you in that shirt."

Clint grinned and toyed with the edge of the shirt. "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?" 

 

Phil bit his lip and stared at him like he couldn't decide which won out between being turned on and the fact that they were in his parents house, but pushed Clint toward one of the beds anyway, swiftly pushing the desk chair under the doorknob in lieu of a lock and pulling the curtains closed before moving the boxes out of the way. He spread his hands over Clint's chest and pushed him down til he was laying on the bed, Phil straddling him and just looking. Drinking in the sight of him.

"I wanna fuck you so bad right now," Phil said quietly, staring down at him, and they both laughed. 

"Well," Clint smirked, pushing his fingers under the fabric of Phil's shirt. "I _can_ be quiet."

 

Phil took a shuddering breath and bit his lips, just looking at him for a long moment. "You were amazing today," he said eventually, brushing a thumb across Clint's forehead and into his hair. "Really?" Clint wasn't convinced. No one had been overtly rude to him but he didn't feel like he'd exactly had them eating out of his hand either, especially not June. 

Phil nodded. "Trust me, they're a hard crowd to please." 

 

Clint swallowed. He wanted to talk about all the new people he'd met, ask Phil questions about them, but he didn't know where to begin. "What?" Phil asked anyway. 

"Nothing.” Clint looked away and slid his hands to rest comfortably on Phil's thighs either side of him. "How do I make your mom like me?" he asked eventually. Phil leaned down to brush his lips over Clint's forehead and then they spent a long minute kissing before Phil shifted off to lay next to him on the narrow bed. 

 

"She doesn't _not_ like you," Phil said in the end, and Clint cringed in disbelief but felt Phil curl his arm around his waist to pull him even closer. After a deep breath Phil looked at Clint's lips as he spoke. "Look, she's known for a long time that I'm gay, and honestly I don't think she really minds that much. And she knows you're good for me." Clint tried to squash the bloom of hope in his belly since there was definitely a 'but' coming up. "But I don't think she really believes..." he paused and sought out the words, mentally resetting and trying a different path to get to the point. "She's very traditional. And you've met her now so you know," Clint nodded and smiled a little. "I don't think she believes that you - or any man could be what I 'need'. She thinks I need a wife. I mean," he continued quickly when Clint looked at him askance, "even if you were, I don't know, barefoot in the kitchen, as far as mom's concerned, you don't have whatever womanly traits a man 'should' come home to." 

 

Phil glanced back up at Clint's eyes when he was done talking and Clint bit at the skin on his lips. "So basically, unless I grow tits and a uterus overnight she's never gonna like me." 

 

Phil shrugged apologetically and looked a little sad. "We'll prove her wrong," Phil promised quietly.

 

Clint grinned and pushed close to Phil, wrapping his own arm around him and closing his eyes to savour the feeling of being so close to the man he loved after most of a day of not being able to casually touch each other like they normally would. "You know, I am good at proving people wrong," he said, their faces so close together he had to close one eye to make out the image of his expression properly. 

 

Phil smiled and moved in for a kiss. "That's true," he said softly.

 

-

 

The next day they were left to their own devices til early afternoon, wedding preparations occupying the rest of the family elsewhere. After lunch the female members of the family came home toting finally fitted dresses for the wedding, pale blues and creams glimpsed before they were whisked upstairs. 

 

Amanda flopped down on the couch next to Phil, clearly in the sort of vile mood only a teenage girl can ever be in. "What's up, Panda?" Phil asked, nudging her with one of the name cards Clint and he had been tasked with putting together for the reception, making little folded triangles of paper that were proving difficult to stick together. "Don't like your dress?" 

"It's _disgusting_ ," she said immediately, pulling a blue ribbon out of her hair and tossing it onto the floor. 

"Amanda," said Sara, coming down the stairs, clearly at the end of her tether from no doubt a long day of dress fittings and last minute preparations. "Stop bothering your uncle."

"Oh, I was hoping she could help us with these," Phil gestured to the heap of half-made place-cards, "if you don't mind? Our hands are too big," he waggled his fingers to demonstrate.

Sara pursed her lips. "Oh. Alright then," she said, turning stiffly to walk back upstairs. 

 

The three of them made all the place-cards eventually, Amanda putting her 'tiny girl hands' (so dubbed by Clint to a smirking eyeroll) to good use, holding them closed til the glue dried properly. Clint felt more at ease with her than with any of the rest of the family, her teenage rebellion making him feel the kinship of being an outsider looking in, talking about the 'retro bands' she liked that made Clint feel old.

 

-

 

When Peter got back with a group of friends in tow, a barbecue was put together; a great big oil drum cut in half and turned into something that reminded Clint of his days in the circus. Phil was clearly embarrassed by the battered old thing, but it fired up fast and soon the garden was filled with steam and smoke and the smell of well-cooked meat. 

 

It was early enough for the archery demonstration Clint had half promised the previous evening, so with Phil's dad's say so, and at the behest of the groom (and who could say no to the groom the day before his wedding?) a pile of cans were set up and Clint knocked them down one by one before working on the dozens of other strange little targets the group gave him.

 

He would probably have let Amanda (or Chris for that matter, though his attentions were quietly occupied by various electronics all evening) try it out, though she'd barely be able to pull back the string - Phil could only _just_ do it - and she must have sensed that, begging Clint to let her have a go. He lost points when he told her to ask her mom but hoped that put him in good stead with Sara. The rest of the family crowded round, looking and touching and giving him ever more impossible challenges, cheering every time he did them. It felt like the best days of the circus, but even better, with Phil on the sidelines, smiling with quiet pride.

 

The kids went home and most of the women went inside, and the impromptu bachelor party kicked up a little with beers and dirty jokes that Clint found hilarious and Phil rolled his eyes at. Without those icy eyes of Phil's mom burning cold into his back or Sara's disapproving air, Clint felt the most at ease he had since they'd arrived. 

 

Phil's relationship with his brother seemed warm and friendly, their conversations full of in-jokes that spoke of a happy childhood together. Peter was a little younger than Phil, but taller and broader, and Clint knew from Phil's stories that he'd often stepped in when the rather scrawny young Phil had gotten himself into trouble. "Thought he was actually Captain America," Peter said, arm around Phil's shoulders and grinning at Clint. "Running his mouth to the Mackelroy kids like an idiot all the time." 

"They were bullies," Phil replied, and god how much Clint loved him for being such a damn boyscout. 

"What was that stuff?" Peter scratched his forehead with the hand that held a beer bottle before gesturing towards Phil. "That weird stuff you used to order? Vita something?"

Phil looked to be in pain and shook his head. "Vegemite," he said, laughing ruefully. 

"Vegemite! Clint, it tasted _so_ gross. But Phil here thought it'd make him bulk out because it sounded like Vita-ray so he ate it by the spoonful." 

That was a story Clint hadn't heard. "Really? _Phil_ , you humungous _dork_." 

 

Phil laughed and leaned away from his brother to punch him in the arm. "I like this guy," Peter grinned back. 

"In my defense, I may have been told that by sources that _at the time_ I respected." Phil retorted, glaring playfully at his brother. Peter laughed in glee at his decades-old prank. "Thanks, thank you so much," Phil said as Peter and Clint giggled at him. "This is great. For full disclosure, Vegemite is actually full of vitamins, so," Phil spread his hands like that put an end to it.

 

There was a lull in the conversation, the three of them mulling over the mental image of Phil determinedly eating weird foodstuffs specially ordered from Australia. "How are you feeling about tomorrow?" Clint asked.

Peter took in a deep breath. It was an obvious question to ask really and Clint felt a bit silly. "Nervous. I'll probably fall over and break my nose or something right before I go in the church. But mostly excited, I know Laura's been looking forward to it forever. I'm mostly just praying it goes right for her. You know, me? I'm happy with a steak out of an oil drum," he stuck a thumb in the direction of the barbecue, embers still glowing under the ash. 

"Ah, the classic oil-drum wedding," Phil tipped his head and grinned at his brother. 

"Trust me, I suggested it. But I was overruled."

 

Clint swigged the remains of his beer and watched the way the heat from the barbecue warped the air above it, making the glow of the kitchen window shake in the darkness. They sat in companionable silence, listening to the others laughing and clinking glasses, and Clint found himself watching Phil’s mom through the window of the kitchen. She was making coffee and talking with Sara, who seemed to be the child she was most similar to, if not her favourite. She glanced up and caught Clint’s eye, looking away quickly.

 

Phil turned to catch what Clint was looking at, huffing when he realised who it was. Peter glanced back too, the movement and subsequent huff of amusement echoing Phil’s.

“Don’t worry about her,” Peter said, “she’s harmless.” 

Clint chewed his lip, but couldn’t help himself from saying, “you sure about that?”

Phil reached over and squeezed Clint’s knee.

 

Peter changed the subject to the groomsmen's suits and how uncomfortable they were, with Phil telling him they should have gone to his guy (Phil had a suit guy in every state). Soon enough Peter was pulled away by other friends for shots behind the shed so his fiancee (and mom) didn't see. Clint didn't envy him the hangover he'd have tomorrow.

 

Clint didn't fit completely, but he didn't feel like _too_ much of an interloper. Certainly felt less of one than he’d expected to. The ones who liked him seemed to make more of an effort just to make up for the ones who didn't. And that seemed more like what a family should be than anything else. He laughed to himself. "Hmm?" Phil’s warm hand found Clint's and squeezed it gently.

 

"I was just thinking about the team. They're like a family, kinda. Steve's the mom and Tony's the dad, I mean you know how schoolmarmish Steve can be. And then Bruce is like some sweet old uncle. Nat's like a mean sister or something, but she's all soft inside, just... takes a hell of a lot of work to get there. Thor's just a big, lovable jock brother. Fury's... well maybe Fury's the mom actually."

"And what am I?" Phil asked, amused, his hand squeezing Clint's again. 

Clint took a deep breath and thought about it. "The dad?" 

Phil laughed. "There's a lot of parents in this family."

"Well, it's unconventional. Modern, y'know? Urban"

"I see," the smile was audible in Phil's voice. "And what about you?" 

Clint thought about it for a while. "The son? Oh, ok no that doesn't work." Phil laughed again and Clint thought about kissing him but could see June at the window and changed his mind.

 

"So they haven't put you off?" 

"Well, I was on board until you brought out that thing," Clint nodded over to the barbecue again. "I thought you were classy, Phil." 

Phil bit his tongue and laughed again. "You're going to tease me about that when we get home, aren't you?" 

Clint grinned. "Hell yeah I am." 

 

Phil shifted to sit next to instead of opposite Clint and leaned into him as much as seemed proper with bright blue eyes feeling like searchlights. "It's nice to see this part of your world. All these people you’ve talked about, your old room... I'm sorry I can't really do the same for you. Unless you wanna visit empty cornfields where we pitched the ring one time. Plenty of those." 

Phil rubbed his thumb over Clint’s knuckles. "You know, I'd actually kind of like that." 

Clint turned to look at him. "Yeah? You really want to?"

"I do want." He twisted his head to kiss Clint's cheek, brazen as anything. "Wanna go upstairs?"

"Philip!" Clint retorted, mock-scandalised. "Not... that. Though believe me."

"Believe you what?"

"Shh." They were whispering now, and Clint felt like he was breaking all sorts of unspoken rules as he kissed Phil's neck in the darkness. There were people around but no one paying attention to them. June was facing away from the window too. "You know," Phil said into Clint’s ear, "we could take the car somewhere." 

Clint shivered. "Yeah?" 

"Hmm. And we've totally run out of marshmallows. It's not a bachelor party without marshmallows." 

"That's true," Clint conceded. “Gotta have marshmallows.”

 

They made their excuses and ended up with a list of things to get other people from the 24hr gas station, but they barely made it out of Phil's street before he pulled over so they could make out like horny teenagers, Clint straddling Phil's lap with the grace only an ex-circus performer could have. 

 

Something about not being able to casually touch each other like they did at home had it all coming out at once, Clint pulling Phil's shirt up and grabbing at his skin greedily. "God I missed this," he said, nuzzling into Phil's chest and kissing him hungrily. Phil was equally desperate, sliding his hands into the back of Clint's jeans and squeezing his ass. Fucking was out of the question if they didn't want to get caught, but right now they were both so pent up they’d take anything. "Can I suck your dick, Phil?" Clint asked, breathless already. 

 

"But I wanted to suck _your_ dick," Phil pouted, grinning and chasing Clint’s face with his own as Clint turned his head to laugh out loud. "I've been thinking about it all day, poor neglected thing under those jeans, suffocating it." As if to emphasise Phil's point, Clint rutted against him. Phil brought a hand to Clint's neck and kissed him again. "You gotta take better care of my things." 

"I'm sorry, you just take such good care of them that there's no way I could hope to compete." 

"It's a good job I'm here, then, huh?" 

Clint nodded. 

"Sit down," Phil instructed, and Clint folded back into the passenger’s seat, adjusting himself as he did so. Phil looked around before ducking down and opening Clint's pants, pulling his cock out but leaving the pants closed otherwise. He immediately plunged down on it, warm and wet and awesome, making Clint cast around for something to hold on to before just resting them on the back of Phil's head. 

"Holy shit Phil," Clint gasped, the motion of Phil up and down his cock at a different angle than what he was used to. For all their driving together, they'd never done this. They’d never had to before.

 

The thrusts he couldn't help but make were warning enough for Phil, but he kept on, sucking Clint through an orgasm that had him seeing stars and making all sorts of undignified noises. 

 

When Clint spiralled slowly back down to earth, Phil was jacking off in the driver’s seat, and Clint's lips barely touched Phil's dick before he came all over his face to apologies and gasping laughter. "I'm sorry, I've never... I've never done that before," Phil huffed. 

He'd certainly come all over Clint's face before. "Car sex?" Phil nodded his head. 

 

-

 

 

“Ready” Phil asked, smoothing down his tie and looking as put together as always. Clint worried at the cuffs of his shirt. The cufflinks felt far too loose and he was sure he’d lose one of them. “Stop fiddling, they’re fine.” 

Clint let Phil pat his hands down to his sides before fixing his tie for him. “Shoulda just got a regular shirt with buttons.” 

“I like them,” Phil told him with the look on his face that could always make Clint do just about anything. He leaned in for a kiss and savoured the last moments before what seemed like some gargantuan mission with unclear parameters. Clint took a deep breath and yes, he was ready. Phil handed him his jacket and  looked him up and down. “God, you’re attractive”

“Not so bad yourself,” Clint replied. “I like you in grey.” 

 

Phil scrunched up his face in distaste. He had privately griped about the suit he was expected to wear as part of the wedding party: a medium grey single breasted suit with a slight sheen to it. He did look nice, perhaps a little more modern than what Clint was used to seeing him in but the grey complimented his eyes and he always liked Phil in whatever he wore anyway. But it was far from Phil’s personal taste. He’d made up for it by picking out an elaborate outfit for Clint instead. “At least one of us won’t be wearing a poly-blend,” he’d murmured as he ran his fingers along rack after rack of jackets, and Clint had teased him and called him a priss. 

 

“They’re not gonna hate me are they?”

“What? Clint, c’mon. You’re still worried?” 

He shrugged. “I dunno. Small town.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Phil told him.

“What if I embarrass you?” 

Phil stepped close and lifted Clint’s face to look at him properly as though he hadn’t realised that this was actually bothering Clint. Like all this - coming out here and meeting his entire family - wasn’t a huge deal. Phil just held him there for a minute til Clint started feeling weird. “You can embarrass me all you want.”

“ _Phil_. I don’t want to embarrass you. I want them to _like_ me.”

“Why?”

 

Clint stepped away and shook his head. “What do you mean, why?”

“Who cares if they like you?” Phil shrugged like it was nothing.

“ _I_ care if they like me!” 

“Since when?”

“Since... what?”

“Since when have you ever cared what other people thought of you?” 

Clint just looked at him, the placid smile and lines of confusion around Phil’s eyes like he just didn’t get it. “Since you.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Phil, don’t you see? You have this huge-ass family. _Family_. All I have is you. If they don’t like me...”

“If they for some unfathomable or ignorant reason don’t like you? Fuck them.”

“But they’re your family, Phil.” 

“So what? You’re my family.” 

It was too early and too odd of a day to be having such an intense conversation and Clint shook his head again. “What?”

Phil laughed and sat on one of the beds and Clint sat down next to him. “Maybe the family I was born into is huge and ridiculous and kinda snotty sometimes. But you, I _chose_. You’re more family than any of them to me. I wake up with you every day. We look after each other when we’re sick. We’ll grow old together. That’s family. You come first. What they think isn’t going to change that.”

Clint just looked at him. “I thought you knew all this. Is this really that big of a confession?” 

 

“Maybe? I almost went to prison for Barney.” 

A flicker of pain went across Phil’s face at mention of Clint’s woebegotten brother. “And what do you think he’d have thought of me?” he said, smiling. 

Clint grinned. “Oh he’d have loved you,” he answered sarcastically. 

“I’m sure he would have.” 

 

“But Phil, your family isn’t my shitbag brother. It’s a family. A real one. You don’t have to- You shouldn’t have to throw that away for me.”

“I’m not throwing anything away, Clint! You’ve got this all in your head. You think they’re going to hate you and somehow turn me against you, but they don’t hate you, and even if they did I could never hate you. Not even a little bit.” 

“Even if I...” Clint cast around for the most outrageous thing he could think of that might offend people, but Phil got there first. 

“Even if nothing. Stop worrying. Remember? This is a mission. You have support,” he gestured to himself, “and a veritable arsenal of weapons at your disposal.” 

“I’d feel better with my bow.” 

“You don’t need it. You have your charm. Your handsome good looks. You’ve won over Amanda so that’s automatically the entire younger generation on your side.”

“She is a good asset,” Clint agreed.

“Exactly. And worst comes to the worst we can just leave early.”

 

-

 

The wedding was short and sweet, Amanda scowling and trying to corral the smaller bridesmaids and Phil looking perfect and handsome. Clint sat next to an elderly aunt of Phil’s, who didn’t introduce herself but squeezed his hand when the vows were exchanged. He gave her his handkerchief and then helped her up after the ceremony. He figured she had no idea who he was, but she folded the pocketsquare back into this hand and looked at him over the top of her glasses as she told him to look after young Philip before shuffling off to congratulate the bride. 

 

-

 

Clint never felt at home in a suit, though after the ceremony and a huge meal, and perhaps a little more wine than was strictly necessary, he felt his shoulders loosen a little. Phil being by his side helped, of course, occasionally squeezing Clint’s knee under the table, and making sure the conversation never strayed too far from anything comfortable. Clint loved him for that - the way Phil could so easily turn a conversation the way he wanted it to go. He regaled the rest of their table - mostly grown cousins and Amanda - with tales of Clint’s various feats of circus trickery, encouraging Clint to get involved and finish his various anecdotes. It had been something Clint had been dreading, but with Phil by his side and Amanda listening in awe, it came easily. 

 

Clint had been expecting some show down; family members of Phil’s bearing down on him like vultures, telling him he wasn’t good enough, unwelcome and unliked, but nothing of the sort happened. If anything, people seemed to be overtly extra-welcoming, perhaps due to Phil being one of the only openly gay people in attendance. Well, aside from Clint. 

 

The happy couple went off to the airport, car clanking from the tin cans dragging along behind them, and the party continued for a while. Phil stayed with Clint all night, and didn’t say anything about him not wanting to dance. Were it a party at the tower, or a night out with people from SHIELD, Clint would probably have been serenading the crowd, but as it was, he and Phil watched everyone else having a nice night, and when it seemed appropriate, they made their way home.

 

-

 

The next morning, Clint woke up slowly, having rested well from the alcohol and the rich food from the night before. He ached to roll over and snuggle up to Phil like he would at home, but there was nothing to roll over into but air, and Phil wasn’t even in the other bed, which was neatly made with his packed bag resting on top of the covers. 

 

Clint went to the bathroom down the hall, brushing his teeth and splashing water on his face. As he was walking back to their room to get dressed and pack up his stuff, he overheard terse voices coming from downstairs. His first instinct (quashed in a nanosecond) was to rush and grab his bow before investigating further, but then there was more back and forth between the voices and he realised who it was.

 

It was Phil and his mother, voices rising and falling and clearly trying to be quiet as they snapped back and forth.

 

Clint crept down the top three stairs and held on to the rail to lean down and listen.

 

“What are you even trying to do here, mom?” Said Phil’s voice, clipped and angry sounding, but also hurt. June said something that sounded clipped as well, but Clint couldn’t make it out. Phil replied, “well, that ship sailed a long time ago, so stop picking out flowers for the wedding I’m never going to have!”

 

“Why can’t I plan ahead?! That’s what I do, Philip, I plan. I’m a planner!”

“I’m not going to change my mind!” 

“You’ve changed it before!” 

“I never…” Clint could imagine him tugging at his hair during the pause. “I never changed my mind, mom. I didn’t just decide one day that I liked men!”

“You could’ve been happy with Marissa, she-”

“Mom! I’m happy with Clint! I love Clint. If I was going to get married it’d be to him, and neither of us would be wearing a goddamn dress, ok?” 

 

Clint froze where he stood, holding onto the banister for dear life as the words crytalised in his mind. Marriage isn’t something they’ve talked about, not properly, anyway. 

 

As he was  standing there trying to digest everything, he didn’t realise the conversation had ended and that June had marched out of the kitchen. She stopped where she was when she saw Clint, and then sighed. Phil appeared behind her and grimaced. 

 

Clint gave them a sheepish smile. “What’s for breakfast?!”

 

-

 

They didn’t talk about it. Not over breakfast, not during their goodbyes, not even as they began the long drive home. Clint knew that Phil knew he’d overheard at least some of their conversation, knew that they’d been fighting, arguing over him. He also knew Phil knew how horrible Clint found the thought of anyone arguing about him. 

 

“Y’know,” Clint said, once they’d switched drivers, running his hands over the steering wheel and feeling a little more in control. “I’d get married if you wanted to.” 

 

Phil did a double take. “Excuse me?” 

 

Clint shrugged. “We don’t have to. I mean, I’d take it, but I know it’s not. Y’know. Our jobs and everything.” 

 

He could feel Phil’s gaze boring into the side of his skull, but somehow, Clint couldn’t tear his eyes from the road. “Are you asking me to marry you?” 

 

“No,” Clint said. “Just saying. If you wanted.” 

 

“And what do you want?” Clint could hear the smile in Phil’s voice, but he was driving, and he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to keep his composure if he looked in Phil’s direction. 

 

“You,” Clint replied. “I just want you. Whichever way I can have you.” 

“What about my family?” 

“I like them.” 

 

“You like them?” 

Clint nodded, still focussed on the asphalt. “Your mom just wants you to be happy. I can respect that.” 

“But that’s-”

“That’s nice. And I know you love her. And I know she’s never gonna love me no matter what. But that’s ok. I just want you to love me.” 

 

It’s not something he could say without giving Phil his full attention, it wasn’t fair, so he pulled over into the dirt at the side of the road. He took a deep breath and turned to face Phil, who was looking a little dewy-eyed. It made Clint roll his eyes, which in turn made Phil laugh. 

 

Phil took Clint’s hands and clasped them across the centre console. “I do love you,” he said, running his thumbs over the backs of Clint’s hands. “Forever.”

 

Clint looked at their hands. “Really?” 

 

Phil nodded. “Yes, Clint. If you’ll have me even with my baggage.” 

Clint let out a short, sharp laugh. “Well,” he said. “I’ve got an assload of baggage myself.” 

 

Phil chuckled as he leaned in, pulling Clint closer for a kiss. “I love your baggage.” 

 

 


End file.
